


Barista Boy

by Venonex



Category: 3C - Fandom, Cancer Crew, IDubbbzTV - Fandom, Maxmoefoe - Fandom, Tvfilthyfrank - Fandom, Youtubers, youtube - Fandom
Genre: Age Difference, Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, I'll probably add more as I go along, IDubbbzTV - Freeform, Implied College/University, Implied High School, M/M, Maxmoefoe - Freeform, Pretty Much just young Max and Ian being cute, maxian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-02-01 18:41:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12710685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venonex/pseuds/Venonex
Summary: [Coffee Shop AU]When a young Australian teenager by the name of Max realizes he needs to get a job to pay for his hobbies, he manages to flock to a smalltown coffee shop in which he meets amazing people that change his life for the better.❝  Fuck off, cunt, I'm busy.  ❞❝  Yeah. Working. So serve me.  ❞Ian Carter was never happy or social since the big move to Australia.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In this fanfiction, all of the relevances between the ages are correct.  
> (E.G, Ian is still 3 years older than Max.)
> 
> However, 3 major characters have had their age lowered.  
> Ian (19), Max (16) and Joji (17).
> 
> The only one who is still the same age as himself in real life, is Chad, who is 22.
> 
> Thanks and please enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max's bad luck begins to turn.

The rain pelted down hard among the copious streetways and buildings. 

Very few cars drove around the desolate streets, their headlights on a low setting, shimmering against the wet surfaces of roads, tires carrying them onward and through puddles which would occasionally splash up and soak any bystanders who had stupidly wandered out through the rain.

Luckily, most smart civilians of the Western Australian town had vacated the streets and huddled themselves in the warmth of their homes, dry and content as could be.

Unfortunately, a teenager who went by the name of Max Stanley, was not as lucky.

He grumbled curses and swears at every drop of rain that fell ruthlessly on his long, brunette hair, both dampening it and causing it to lose shape and slope over his vibrant green eyes, which only angered the kid more than he previously had been.

The reason Max was out in this god-awful rainstorm, was because he had attended an interview for a job.

Usually, his mother would pick him up from something like that, but Max didn't really wish to face her. She was the main reason he'd applied for this job position, claiming he was getting too old for her to keep buying him, 'that lame Japanese animal crap'. 

 _Right. ' **He was too old for Pokemon.** '_  _As if._

The very thought of the hour his mum had spent yelling at him, repeating herself about how she was in debt due his little fanboy obsession with the games and show, had the 16-year-old fuming internally.

To add to his little outburst of anger, yet another car drove by carelessly, tire splashing into a puddle which ended up covering him in water.  _Great._

Another reason why the youngest Stanley kid refused to call his mother and ask for her to pick him up, was because the people at the fast food place he'd gone to had pretty much informed him, as he was leaving, that he hadn't even been closely the type of person they wanted working in their establishment.

Well, Max didn't take kindly to that, and being the little mound of angst and genuine Australian anger he was, he'd given the manager the finger, told him to 'fuck off', and did the likes of slamming the door on the way out.

So now, both insanely outraged and slightly self-pitiful, the Aussie teen wandered the streets, hands jammed tightly inside of his black puffer coat's pockets, unbothered to even pull up the fluffy hood as water had probably already gathered inside of it.

He sighed lustlessly, the long exhale causing a foggy mist to drift from his mouth and float away, along with a piece of his anger. He knew it was his own fault for being an outright cunt, but at the same time, as he watched the traffic lights reflections in the pavement below, he couldn't help more regretful, grinding his teeth together as he ran across an empty street.

Max found that the more anger he let go of, the less warm he felt. His body began to take notice of the cold and rain assaulting it at full force, and the Australian began to find himself shivering softly, teeth chattering.

He was determined to get home, to somewhere warm and welcoming, so he picked up speed a bit more, jogging over the wet sidewalks until a soft heat smacked him across the face, accompanied by a pleasant, but bitter smell.

The 16-year-old stopped in his tracks and turned to the source of the scent and warmth, only to have his green eyes greeted with a rather cozy-looking space, lit almost dimly with an orange glow. Max was in shock; he'd been through these streets with old friends and family for years and he'd never stopped to notice such a little place that looked so inviting.

Cautiously, he stepped forward and placed a fingerless gloved hand over the shop window, peeking inside. There seemed to be two people, conversing, one younger looking bloke sitting at a little diner-like booth and the other, leaning over the inside of the counter.

It was an odd sight to see, but Max took it rather as a clue that this place was open for business, and slowly let himself in through the glass-paned door, a little ring from a bell on the door alerting both people inside of the small shop.

They each turned their heads to see who'd interrupted their talk, a minute look of shock on either's face as they scanned their eyes over the thin teenager in dark gray skinny-jeans and a big, black puffer coat, which was pretty much dripping wet.

Max almost felt shy; having both eyes on his him, taking in all of him before the two shared a nod and stopped talking, the bigger man behind the counter taking a couple steps towards Max's position with a cheeky glint in his eyes. The other boy, sitting in the booth, lowered his head slightly and sipped from his plastic cup.

Then, the big guy spoke.

"Ah. Nice to see a new face around here, but I hope you know the ACDC concert isn't in town this year."

Max's eyes widened, and he was deeply confused until he remembered what he'd been dubbed by various other members of his previous schools. Emo, punk, goth.

"Yeah, yeah," Max laughed, though it was without any real amusement, "sorry, guess I got the wrong little shithole to spend money at. My bad. Later, boys."

He'd turned and prepared to walk out when there was a call from behind him; a hesitant little 'wait!'

The teen turned back around, cocking a brow, door still being held open with one hand.

"I was just kidding, prick. Jeez, you've got a mouth on you, haven't ya? Come in."

Max grinned toothily, happy to have out-cheeked the barista as he re-entered the little cafe and shrugged his coat back a bit before glancing up at the boards, but not after giving the bigger man another once-over.

He appeared to be rather large in size, a green apron pronouncing that fact rather harshly. The man had his dark-blonde hair tied messily into a bun above his head. He also had a dark beard and a rather distinct mole on his nose, one that gave the man a little bit of flavour to add to his undeniably quick tongue, and a name tag that read ' _Chad R._ '

"I'll take a mocha, thanks," Max ordered, pulling out a five dollar note and handing it to Chad, before slipping himself in a stool that was perched at the counter.

Chad simply rolled his eyes and mumbled something rather listlessly, before humming a tune which was quickly drowned out by the loud sound of a coffee grinder, grinding up some beans. The scent that lingered around the shop was almost enchanting to the Aussie boy, as he drummed his fingers against the marble counter and allowed to eyes to gander around the machinery, as well as get a good look at the rest of the cafe.

It was small, in short. Cozy, most definitely, and had a little bit of a retro feel to it. The lights were in no way blinding, instead welcoming and defining, making the whole environment seem a little more relaxed.

The walls held posters, most of which had to do with cars, and the comfy-looking booths held dark green and white seats instead of the traditional red. Even the trimming around the counter was green. Both the counter and the booth tables were made of gentle, light brown wood instead of marble. 

Max had never been one for fashion or understanding how to complete a look, but this place certainly did look stylish. He was almost surprised by the fact that there was only one customer other than himself.

Speaking of which, Max turned a bit in his spot and gazed at the other boy.

From what could be seen, the other male was young, like him, donning nothing but a black shirt, blue jeans and a weird pair of shades despite being indoors. The Aussie scrunched his nose up slightly.

"Aren't you cold, mate?" Max asked, swiveling his body around a little bit on the stool.

The other kid didn't give a clear answer at first, then just kind of put his cup down and gave him a thumbs up.

"That's Joji, good guy, doesn't speak much to newbies. Doesn't need to."

Max spun back his gaze back to Chad, who had slid a plastic cup across to the younger boy. Max took it, reveling in the warmth radiating from the liquid through the plastic and into his gloved hands for a moment before glancing back at Joji.

"Joji? Sounds like some foreign shit. Does he speak English?"

Suddenly, laughter from either sides of Max made the youngest jump, holding tighter to his cup as his green orbs hurriedly switched between the two of them; Max's emotions stuck as he tried to decide whether he was embarrassed, angry or shocked that the boy closer to his age had actually made a sound.

He settled on confused, making a soft 'wha' noise before the other teenager, 'Joji', went a bit quieter, leering over at Max lightheartedly, 

"Fuck you, man, I didn't ask to be born in Japan!"

Max's face burned with uncertainty, and he held tighter to the coffee in his hands, a scowl overcoming him as he tried his best not to get angry. It was his foolishness anyway.

"Joji's from Japan, moved here when he was little. God, did no one teach you sensitivity, cunt?"

Max glared over at Chad, softly, his eyes still carrying a lingering embarrassment.

"Yeah, well I didn't know any better. Fuck both of you, actually," he hissed, lowering his eyes to the floor as he sipped from his coffee.

Joji's gentle chuckle filled in the silence as he audibly turned in the squeaky booth chair, now facing Max and Chad.

"You can call me George if it's that much of a hassle. Seriously though, not everyone's as cool as me, so watch out next time you're out offending people because of their names," the Japanese teenager snickered, taking a large gulp of his coffee as he relaxed.

The young Australian allowed his eyes to wander up yet again, meeting with Joji--or George's--shades yet again. Max grew curious, but kept his voice mute, as not to make a fool of himself again.

There was an exchange of looks almost over his head, and then it was Chad's turn to speak again.

"So, kid, what's your name? How'd ya find us? Who made you into the mouthy cunt you are?"

The Stanley boy returned his attention to the chubby barista, before telling him his name and of how he'd failed a job interview and was simply looking for somewhere to keep warm.

Chad's occasional laugh greeted him when he told little jokes in between the story, and he smiled once he'd finished, taking a sip of the beverage which had fallen to room temperature.

Once more, Max was surprised to hear Joji's voice, even more so a defined American accent, and turned around to stare inquisitively at him once more.

"Do you think you'll come back? This hole in the wall is really small, and regulars are like family."

The Jap nodded to Chad, then leaned his head on his palm as he gazed up at Max, waiting for an answer.

Max smiled a bit, glad this other teen hadn't taken too much offense with his name comment.

"Nah, yeah, probably," Max began, stretching a bit, "so far I really like it here, and the coffee doesn't taste like shit either."

Joji chuckled as Chad coughed, _"y_ _ou owe me two dollars cunt."_

Shaking his head, the Jap stood up and handed Chad a small golden coin, sighing. Once he'd sat back down in the booth again, Max got the courage to ask his question.

"So, why exactly do you wear glasses indoors? And on such a rainy day?"

George paused softly, then simply shrugged his shoulders, replying,

"so that I weed out stupid motherfucker's like you."

The brunette felt his cheeks warm once more, but it didn't stop his quick mouth.

"Fuck up, cunt."

By now, Chad was slapping him on the back, cackling along with George. At first, Max was a little shaken by the slaps, but then he beamed proudly and laughed along with them.

He truly felt welcome here. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new face enters the humble scene.

_They had been there talking for hours._

_Somewhere along the way, Max made up his mind about something. Stubborn as he was and willing to get what he wanted, the teenager pursued it._

_"So, are you guys hiring?"_

_Chad's booming laugh echoed around the shop, bringing silence upon the two young boys._

_"Nah, kid! I don't need any help around here! Look around, ya goon. How many people do you see?"_

_Max was taken aback, biting on his lip to display his disappointment. He was willing to persist, but not if he knew it wouldn't get him anywhere._

_That was until Joji added,_

_"He's_ lying _, boss. This place of a morning is packed to the rim with mindless Uni kids, all looking to get a fix. Hell, Chad here even has a record among them for being so preoccupied, he fucks up their orders, eh fat cunt?_ "

_Chad was almost entirely wordless, face littered with hatred as he pouted slightly, cleaning out a mug with a dishcloth._

_"Yeah well, shut up, Joji, ya faggot. You start Monday, Max. Don't get too attached, I'd fire you as quick as I employed you."_

 

 

      That was how it began.

The weekend flew by like a jet plane, and before Max knew it, he was on his way to his first training day at work. 

About a week of training flew by just as quick, and it made him feel like he was just floating through the times, unable to grasp onto any second before it flew away beside him.

Then finally, it was his first big day; his first  _actual_  work day. Monday. 

The boy was shaky at best, giddy with excitement but his heart grieved at the idea of him messing up something basic and getting him fired.

The  _last_  thing he wanted to do was face his mother after being fired again.

So, Max put on a brave face as he made his way into the small coffee shop, greeted by overwhelming bittersweet scent and the duo of loud-mouthed individuals, who had quickly become like family to him. Specifically Joji, or George, who had become like his best friend instead of his boss like Chad.

His relationship with Joji was spontaneous and incredible. From the moment they really got talking, they were constantly on the same, fucked up wavelength, and Max adored having such a friendship. He'd dare to even say that he and George were best friends, even if they'd only known each other for a total of nine or so days.

The very sight of the familiar faces welcomed him almost immediately, and Max smiled warmly as he made his way behind the counter and placed his duffel bag in the tiny, box-like staff room, not before grabbing out his green apron.

"You seem pretty alert."

Max froze a bit, shuffling the apron in his hands slightly whilst rubbing at the corner of his hipster-esque glasses with a sleeve, causing them to prop up a tad.

"Excuse me?"

Chad's eyes now wandered over to Max instead of the coffee machine he was cleaning.

"I said you look alert, cunt, though now I can clearly see you aren't."

The teenager scoffed and rolled his eyes,

"Shut up. It's too early in the morning to be alert, anyway."

The older barista chuckled and shook his head.

"Early is the right time for coffee. Get used to it."

Max grunted defeatedly, then unfolded the green apron and placed his head through the ring, beginning to tie the knot behind his back.

"Did you buy glasses just to make you look more hipster?" Joji asked quietly, taking a carefree sip of the cappuccino in his hands.

"No, I'm supposed to wear them all the time," the Aussie mumbled softly, "I just didn't wanna fuck anything up."

Chad hacked up something along the lines of 'you better not' before disappearing into the staff room.

Now, Max moved forward a bit, folding his arms over the counter and leaning on it.

"Don't worry, Max. Chad needs all the help he can get here. He's lucky to have you," the Jap offered with a gentle smile. 

Max ate it up, feeling relieved.

"Also, hey, just in case you need the confidence; you look really good today."

The brunette boy's emerald-like eyes widened for a moment as he gave a quick glance down to his appearance. Tight black Pokemon shirt, blue jeans and black converse, with the addition of the green apron and glasses.

He smiled up at Joji.

"Thanks, dude."

  
**  
***********************  
_____________________**

***************************

 

Ian held his camera hopelessly, the strap around his neck as he stared around the cityscape behind his glasses with a beastly careless glare. Sure, the sunrise was pretty and the sky was an array of beautifully assorted colours, but to him they were as interesting as the colour gray, and nowhere near what he actually wanted.

The student sighed and rubbed his tired eyes relentlessly, trying to wipe the sleep out of them, as he so desperately craved to be awake.

Ever since he'd moved--no, been relocated to Western Australia as a 17-year-old, the American had built up a nihilistic view of the world in general. He believed that he must have done something absolutely outrageous to deserve to end up in a place like Australia, after being uprooted from his home in California like it was no big deal.

The 19-year-old had wanted nothing to do with any of the Australian cultures, but as the education system goes, he had to attend University, and settled on one with the option he was trying to find passion in; filmmaking.

Sure, Ian wasn't great at it, but he found it interesting enough to want to get better at. He often made stupid little videos back home in California that he would show to his friends, and they would usually get a good laugh out of his antics and displays in the videos, so he found it was a good path to choose for his future.

He hadn't been at it long though and needed the inspiration to make jokes again instead of being a pessimistic asshole to everyone he endeared.

That was what lead Ian to where he was. Wandering away from the bigger cities, camera dangling from his neck, heading into yet another smaller town, tucked away from the rest of the world.

It was pretty early in the morning, so the American hadn't expected anywhere to be open, or for the place to give him any ideas at all.

Still, he ghosted his way through the quiet town, watching birds trail from trees to traffic lights and into the sky.

The entire town seemed almost dead, minus a few people getting into their cars dressed fancily in work attire and so on. Ian felt completely alone.

That was until he noticed a big window that the sun was shining on, and not only that, but the light hit a little wooden sign on the door that said 'open'.

It looked to be some sort of small cafe, and Ian paused for a second. His mind started to mentally debate on whether he should order a coffee to help him wake up and continue searching for ideas, and after a moment of standing there, pondering, the American made his way inside, his senses assaulted promptly with the smell of sanded wood, freshly brewed coffee and a faint scent of vanilla.

The hazel eyes belonging to him surveyed the area diligently, taking note of the specific hints of green colouring to brighten up the otherwise wooden architecture. It was inviting.

The American wafted towards the counter, where he was quickly met with a chubby Australian man, who seemed presumptuous and bold in his ways.

When the male asked what he wanted, Ian hushedly ordered an espresso, fidgeting with the gray beanie atop his head.

The barista snickered slightly, teeth showing vaguely under his upturned lips.

"We're in a coffee shop, not a library, y'know. You could yell if you wanted to."

Ian was weary of the audaciousness shown towards him, but attempted a short laugh, trying not to sound as uncomfortable as was. 

If he were being honest, this was one of the first times he'd really ordered something for himself instead of getting his parents to get it. It was his little 'fuck you' for moving him to another country.

The man, identified as Chad on his nametag, gave Ian his total, which the American struggled to find among the depths of his wallet before handing it over.

'Chad' said something about how he'd have someone bring it over, but Ian was barely listening as he made his way over to a booth and slipped inside of it silently, trying to avoid further interaction.

Australians were usually rowdy and shameless in most situations, and he didn't want to be the butt of another American joke again.

Once he'd settled down a bit, he began to take note of his surroundings, like the fact that there was only one other customer in the shop with him. That was odd, this place seemed pleasant and like the sort of establishment that would gather crowds of hipsters, students and businessmen with nothing better to do.

However, this place was just... empty.

Sooner than he could dwell on it, there was a loud shout from the man who'd served him about going on break.

Ian frowned, assuming this meant he wouldn't get his coffee for a prolonged period of time, until another, skinnier and younger looking boy appeared from behind one of the machines, his vision directed onto the hot coffee in his hands as he started making his way closer.

"Uh, here's your coffee," the other boy spoke, Australian accent as expected. His hair was long and brown, falling almost perfectly over his face, thick-rimmed glasses glinting in the light as he bent down.

Ian no longer bit his tongue to hold off his snarky personality, and without his moral's permission, he made a comment.

"Do all of you Australians sound uncertain about your line of work?"

The younger boy froze in place, hands jolting in such a way that the beverage slipped from his grip and splashed onto the floor.

"What the fuck did you just say?"

The hazel-eyed gazed up in shock at hearing the Aussie swear at him.

"I was kidding," Ian retorted, "don't take it so personally!"

The young barista scowled softly, grinding his teeth together, before standing upright.

"Sorry. First day. I'll make you a new one.  _Yankee cunt._ "

Ian heard the vulgar name pointed at him, as sneaky as the barista tried to keep it.

To say it was unsettling was an understatement. To say it didn't give him a thrill he hadn't felt in years was a long shot, but it was true.

The American picked up the cup and began to grab napkins from a little box at the front, cleaning up the mess that the teenaged employee had made by his feet. Once he was done, he instead placed himself on one of the green stools at the counter, fixing his glasses a bit.

The brunette's long hair swished a bit as he made his way around the machines, skillful but hesitant hands grabbing at levers and stirring, pushing buttons. In no time at all, the Australian had concocted yet another caffeinated drink, this time making sure the lid was propped on tight before spinning on his heel, only to find Ian sitting across from him.

The green eyes, which held a constant fire in them, met up with hazel as the expression on his face fell from dumbfounded to annoyed.

He dismissively shoved the coffee in Ian's direction, with a still 'here' under his breath.

"Sorry."

"What?" The long-haired boy asked.

"I said, sorry. For making you drop that drink. I didn't realize it was your first day."

The Australian behind the counter nodded, dumbly, then rolled his eyes. He was about to speak to the boy situated behind Ian, but his boss stopped him.

"Max, those dishes need wiping down. Grab a cloth and make yourself useful."

The barista boy, Max, was speedy with his course of action. It seemed he wanted to squirm his way out of the conversation with Ian at all costs.

"So, your name's Max?"

A curt nod.

"You like coffee?"

Another scornful nod.

The American began to search around for anything else he could use to his advantage. That's when he discovered the shirt.

"You like Pokemon?"

Suddenly, Max was at full attention with him, stopping momentarily before replying,

"Yeah."

Ian grinned. That was his way through.

"Which is your favourite?"

There was a second of stillness in the other before he grinned.

"Brock."

Ian snorted, shaking his head slightly. Max's wondrous eyes now trained to him, a much more mild look in them.

"I see you're no fool to Pokemon," he commented, wiping down a mug with a brown cloth.

The American smirked, shrugging only with his shoulders.

"I used to play it a little, but I never really got into it."

"That's a shame, Pokemon is life. Hey, what was your name? Just so I know what to put on your cup if you ever need a take away instead of cunt."

Ian laughed delightedly, though it was shortlived and the opposite of obnoxious.

"My name's Ian, but you can put cunt on there if you want."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoy this and want more, please leave a comment!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things aren't going so well for Max, but Ian is somewhat of a cursed gift.

Things weren't going so well at home.

Max was coming to work stressed out beyond belief, sometimes falling asleep right before the two other men in the shop, standing upright at a machine.

Joji had cautiously asked him about it, but when Max retaliated with a fire to his tongue, the Jap boy merely pushed back into his own business, sipped on his coffee and left it at that.

Max decided it was better that way.

His parents had been on and off fighting for days on end. Not just arguing over which channel to obscure the fantasies of their fucked relationship with on T.V, but actually getting to a point where one adult would draw blood from the other.

The very thought brought a grave pit over Max's chest, and all the poor teenager wanted to do was sleep. There were only about four days until his school holidays would come to a dreaded end, and the Aussie would have to get up even earlier, run his shift down at Chad's Cafe, then change and head out for school.

_How fucked._

The added stress of his parents only weighed his already heavy heart down more, and he found himself spacing out while pouring a coffee, compassionate eyes becoming null as they stared into the abyss instead of focusing on the hot liquid being jetted into the cup in his hands.

"...  _Max._ "

No response.

" _... Max... you..._ "

The voice was slowly getting closer to being comprehensible.

" _Max!_   _The fucking coffee!_ "

_Shit._

A burning sensation roared through the tips of his fingers and webbing between his thumb-and-pointing finger.

The long-haired teen bellowed out with a ' _fucking ass cunt!'_ before stopping the machine with shaky fingers and dashing over to the sink, where he ran the hot, red area of his hand under the cold tap.

"Jesus Cunting Christ, man, where were you just now!?  _China!?_ " Joji hollered at him from the customer's side of the counter, his shades pulled up to his hairline as he stared Max down with concern radiating from his eyes.

Max simply forged a dorky grin, one that lacked any real emotion other than grimness and sheepishness.

"Nah, I was in Japan... visiting your old folks or whatever," he retorted half-heartedly, rubbing at the tender spot which was a dark red in colour, even after being wetted.

The boy on the other side of the counter huffed out and forced a laugh, slipping his glasses back over his eyes.

"Very funny. But seriously, Max, are you okay? What the fuck happened?"

It took a moment of contemplating for the young barista; these days, George and he were as close as friends who had known each other for  _years._  They had a friendship in which the closeness was timeless, and it was really special.

But Joji had problems of his own, what with college work, standards, fees and so on. It was a mystery how he spent so much time in this particular coffee shop.

Max decided maybe he should just keep this little domestic dispute business to himself. He was stronger than that, and he could move past it without talking about it.

"I'm okay, I guess I just didn't get enough sleep last night. Fuck off, okay? I'm serious, you're becoming my problem."

The older boy didn't seem pleased with the response he got, but he took it anyway, reaching from around the back of the coffee machine and grabbing his cup, wiping the edges so he could hold it. Joji then went back to his regular seating in the booth, head postured towards where Max would normally stand.

Surely enough, the barista found himself standing in his usual spot, tenderly prodding and paying close mind to the injury on his hand.

"You know, you're lucky Chad didn't see that."

Max scoffed.

"I know, I'd be 'fired in a heartbeat', or whatever that fat shit says."

There was a moment's silence, one of which was comfortable due to their unlikely closeness.

"You can tell me anything, Max. I may not be a great person, but you're like the barista brother I never had."

The Australian was stunned; Joji dropped such a sentimental bombshell on him before he could even so much as glance up. So he responded with his usual quirky smile and assholish nature.

"I know, and thanks and all, but George... stop being a fag."

This caused laughter from the Jap, making Max's smile stretch just in the slightest.

"Whatever you say, boss."

Just when Max thought he could be at peace with the world again, just for five seconds, an overfamiliar, obnoxious ring came from the doorway. 

On instinct, the Aussie turned his head to the source of the noise and stepped over to the register, only to see--

Ian again.

Max let out an audible groan and placed both of his hands in front of him on the surface as he usually did, making the newcomer smirk lightly as he stepped forward and hauled his wallet out of his red pants pockets.

For the past few days, Ian had been a returning customer to the store, ever since the little spillage accident on Monday.

It seemed he had it out for Max, to annoy him, harass him and be a nuisance to the teenager in general. Besides, he was in University; Max couldn't help but wonder how he found the time to keep coming back.

Maybe it was just to make Max's life that smidgen harder.

"Great, hey cunt, what's up? Do you want your regular with or without spit in it this time?"

The fleeting look of horror the American's face entertained the barista for the little time it stuck until he eased up and sniggered at the feist handed to him.

"I think I'll go with spit," Ian replied eloquently, nodding his head as if it were a debatable subject, "and don't be too shabby--you know I like it frothy."

 Max couldn't contain his amusement over Ian's words, finding the laughter that he emitted completely uncontrollable. He didn't want this shithead to have the satisfaction of knowing he was funny in the least, but that was a bit impossible when you couldn't control the chortle you let loose.

Ian seemed pleased with himself as his hazel eyes gazed into the barista's giddy face, watching as Max drew up a hand to cover his mouth a bit when his attention was drawn to a crimson patch of skin.

"Woah, Maxy-boy. Did my favourite barista get hurt in his dangerous line of work?"

The louder boy's laugh died down and within seconds he was clutching at his injured hand with his free one, face carrying a similar crimson colour as he began to glare daggers into the American's eyes.

Ian felt like his skin was blazing under such a passionately hateful look.

"Shut the fuck up, cunt, you're not funny," Max murmured, his mood clearly deflated. No one in the shop had any idea of what thoughts had been hauled back into his head, so he probably just looked like an angsty kid with anger issues.

"That's not what you thought a minute ago," Ian remarked, before forking over the total for his coffee.

The hot-headed barista leered hatefully at the money in the the American's hand, then snatched up quick, ignoring the hot feeling that carried through his skin as their fingers briefly met.

Max withdrew his hand, flipping his hair a little so it covered his thick-framed glasses and view of the customer in front of him, and began placing the money in the register. Without so much as another word, he set out to work.

Ian wasn't sure if he'd taken that one too far; surely not, he'd solely asked about an injury that was plain as day on the teen's hand.

The Aussie kept his head low and his eyes focused on his actions as he made a start on the American customer's regularly ordered drink; a boring old espresso.

He was swift on his feet around the tiny space that was overcrowded with machines of all different calibers and settings, becoming so accustomed to them by his ability to pick up information speedily.

The only times Max stopped what he was preparing was when the amount of steam and discharged heat fogged up his frames, to which he would act by bringing his shoulder up and nudging the lenses against the fabric over his arms.

Finally, the boy was about to place a lid on the drink's top, when he had a short recall of Ian's order. He began grinning mischievously, green eyes sweeping up to meet the bewildered hazel ones belonging to the American sitting across from him, on his usual stool.

Upon further inspection, it appeared that Joji was staring at him with a practically identical expression, and Max's grin gained more flare.

Without a word of warning, Max threw his head back and hacked the best he could, ears being met by two individuals crying out for him to stop, but it was too late; the Aussie boy mustered up all the saliva he could, then spat right into the espresso, before wiping his mouth.

"Fucking disgusting," Ian cried, rubbing heinously at his forehead, "absolutely gross."

Joji's voice lurked from the background,

_"What the fuck, man?"_

The older customer continued to complain and try to talk sense into Max, but the teen no longer listened to them, trumpeting with laughter as he clutched his stomach and took a step back, hand reaching for the surface top behind him.

"Isn't that what you ordered,  _cunt?_  Extra frothy, right? Well, you picked ya poison, now drink it!"

Max remained noisily cackling at his own ingenious whilst the two shop-goers each stayed stunned in the overzealous sabotage. 

It was clear that the American was about to shoo the drink back over the counter in disgust when the sound of an unfamiliar creak broke all of them from their thoughts, and there stood Chad, apron and all, with his eyes narrowed seriously.

"I was on the phone, you dumb fucks! _What's so funny!?_ "

The young barista was now dead silent, with his gaze fixated on the ground. He only flickered glances towards Chad, and towards Ian.

 _'This is it,_ ' he thought, ' _I just ruined my own life._ '

Another heavier silence fell over the room.

"... Max told a funny joke."

All eyes, even the despairing greens, darted over to Joji's lone figure. The Jap responded by nodding in Ian's direction, leading the American customer to clear his throat and straighten his back, rotating to meet Chad's fuming glare.

"He's right. Your barista, over there," a skinny finger pointed towards a very hopeless looking Max, "has quite the golden tongue when it comes to comedy."

Chad snorted quietly, trained to where he assumed the shenanigans came from.

"And your coffee? Max made that?"

"Yes, sir."

"Great. Take a sip."

Whatever they called a heavy silence before was a feather-weighted silence. The new one was like a boulder, crushing both the witnesses and the partaker.

The long-haired brunette gazed at Ian, his face laced with desperation. The guilt was written on his face like the headline of a newspaper; it was clear that Max believed he was done for, and had already come to accept it.

That's why when the American spoke his next words, those vibrant greens were alive with wonder and bemusement.

"Okay."

With that, the cup was raised off of the counter, brought up to pink lips with an unsteady hand, and slurped down like it was nothing.

The male's face somehow kept stoic and collected, and he continued to gulp down the tainted liquid like it was just a regular old coffee.

The older barista began mumbling something, then pointed to Max, giving him one simple instruction; ' _don't fuck up_ ', then went back out into the back room.

Max heeded the advice, but his attention strayed from Chad's exit. Instead, it lingered over to Ian, who was unchanging.

"Dude. That was kinda fucked up," Joji commented, just as careless with his awestruck stare as Max.

"I know, but you can consider it a cunt taking one for the team," Ian shrugged, then took another sip of the caffeine drink in his hands.

Lost in his thoughts-- _many_  various thoughts--the Aussie took a hesitant step closer and said the first thing that was on his mind.

"You realize you could have just gotten me fired just then?"

He'd meant it in the wake of him being such a moody serviceman, but the reply he got wasn't what he'd expected.

"And never see my favourite barista boy ever again?" 

Ian placed a hand over his heart, feigning hurt,

"How  _could_ I, Max?"

Said barista felt his chest grow unfamiliarly warm and heavy at the really plain notion, and his rich eye's held a sparkle of what could only be recognized as admiration in them; but again, the kid was never good with emotions.

"Shut up, cunt. I'm making you a new coffee."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian finds that Chad's coffee shop is becoming his second home, but peace cannot always be kept in homes.

The point at which he stood, Ian had become a well-known and welcomed regular to the compact establishment.

The young barista, who spent the most time working, had almost routinely greeted him with a common slur; cunt, and proceeded to make him his favoured beverage without so much as a word spoken about said drink.

Never was it acted upon with any real enthusiasm or drive, excluding the first day, but it was done well and at a pace which the young adult admired greatly. For such a little business, it had a service unlike any other he'd seen before, and he'd come to find it a place where he could unwind and relax a bit after a stressful day, or even before one.

The very thought of the shop cracked a smile on Ian's face, and he had to suck in a breath and wipe it from his features to be seen as somewhat normal while he pushed open the glass doors and was taken away by the bittersweet scent that had grown so feverishly on him.

His dark eyes ran rampant over the new, yet familiar scene, finding nothing out of order or particular uncommon, then he strolled over to the counter, where the teenaged barista was found, though his head was directed downward at a small gadget in his hand, biting his lips habitually as his eyes viewed the device behind thick-rimmed frames.

His brunette locks hung untamed over and around his face as he moved his fingers across the pads, and Ian had to wonder how he even saw whatever he was tending to.

"Excuse me?"

The Australian paid little attention, green eyes barely even making an attempt to meet hazels that bored on curiously.

"Fuck off, cunt. I'm busy."

"Yeah, working. So serve me," Ian demanded lightheartedly, folding his arms across his slim chest.

Max groaned in dismay, hating having being disrupted from his gaming, and tucked what Ian now recognized as an old Game Boy Advance away in his pocket, the very 8-bit sounding music stifling as it was confined.

The sound of machines roaring to life quickly overwrote it, and the American shook his head and mumbled a soft 'nerd' whilst his ramblings could remain unheard. He tossed the money from his wallet across to where Max would usually take it from, then sauntered over to his frequented stool, taking a seat and sighing.

"I'm surprised you actually got him to talk," a somewhat familiar voice uttered over the loud rumblings, "he's been playing that thing all morning. I was beginning to wonder if he forgot what English was."

Ian pivoted around to face the voice, only to be met with that odd kid who was constantly seated right there, no matter what time Ian had made his arrival.

"Oh, yeah? Well, you're welcome."

The odd character laughed, and the older was taken aback for a moment.

"I wasn't thanking you. He can be quite annoying once you get him started."

Ian had to throw in a chuckle at that, eyes wafting between the friendly teen and the ground a tad.

"I don't doubt that."

They had a minute of relishing the end of the dig, all in the meanwhile the barista peering watchfully at them from behind a wall of metallic machine backs as if he knew he was the butt of the joke, before the odd kid offered his name like it was asked of him.

"I'm Joji."

Biting his tongue to withhold a wisecrack about the name that often got him into trouble, like he did to get in the bad books of Max, Ian pulled up a genuine smile.

"Ian."

Joji grinned, and both were happy to be acquainted after a week of seeing one another without names to faces.

The obnoxious machines went abruptly silent as the sound of a cup's plastic bottom being pushed across a wood surface gained the attention of the American.

He swiveled back around, taking the coffee in both hands and bringing it to his lips, before pausing and allowing his eyes to drift up and meet Max's, who was gazing at him blankly.

"Before I make a fool of myself, did you spit in this? Is that why you're watching me so attentively?"

The young barista snorted into laughter, eyes swirling with life once more as he did so. He shook his head in such a way that his hair bounced gracefully, balancing his weight on both of the hands that laid dormant on the counter.

"Nah, mate. You're not on pranked, this isn't a set-up," he assured, a jester-like smile playing on his thick lips.

Ian muttered a 'good', then began downing the espresso one hot sip at a time.

"Glad to see a bit of humor can resurrect you, Max. I was beginning to think we'd have to put you down," Joji articulated from his booth.

Max rolled his eyes back, letting out a heavy breath.

"I didn't sleep well, okay? I'm sorry for not talking to you, you poor neglected little girl."

It was Ian's turn to laugh reticently, hazel orbs taking a quick gander back at Joji's mock offense. His self-defense came in hot,

"At least I'm not an autistic Australian kid, playing Pokemon during work. What are you, five?"

"Ouch, Joji," the teenaged barista responded, though it was said through spouts of laughter, "really hit me where it hurt. Showed me who's boss."

The older teen joined in with Max and Ian's laughter, the coffee shop alive with the giggles of three boys. The oldest of all cherished the occasion dubbed as bonding, completely unused to anything like this since he had moved from California.

All good things come to an end, though, as Ian's phone alerted him that it was eight o'clock, and he had a briefing for a task set out by his course's professor.

When he glanced up, he became aware of two pairs of eyes directed at him and his mobile inquisitively, Max's earthy greens especially expressive to his curiosity as they generally were more revealing to his true thoughts.

"Sorry, faggots, I guess I have to go. I'll probably be back later tonight," Ian continued to explain as he stood up, shoveling his wallet away deep into the depths of his jean pockets, "so I'll probably see you both then."

The older-looking teen waved to him with two fingers, but Max's reaction was of much more displeasure, perhaps even minor disappointment.

"Why the fuck are you leaving now then?" He asked, accent thicker with his impatience.

"I have something on. I swear I'll come back," the elder replied, shoulder hunching into a shrug as he neared the exit.

"But tonight,  _I'll..._ "

The young barista's sentence trailed off to inaudibility, pointless ramblings as the rushing American vacated the premises.

 

 

    The entire lecture Ian sat through was boring.

In comparison to the impassioned personality and energy of an Aussie barista boy with a fierce voice and plentiful unoriginal quips, it was like watching paint dry on a wet wall. 

When it was finally concluded, the young adult found himself scrambling to gather his belongings and leave, a trip to his favourite hangout spot persistent in his mind.

The walk there from the campus felt way longer than it should have, but when he finally got there, the lanky male was relieved beyond belief and eagerly pushed open the door with the domestic bell like a song he'd heard a hundred times.

What wasn't familiar to him, was the bustling hum of life and porcelain cups clashing against silverware or other equally as fragile cups, and to top it all off, three obnoxious, over-the-top, howling teenaged boys, who were all violently choppy in their interactions.

Though shocked to a still, Ian's hazel gawk kept to the three loud characters, then shifted to the likes of middle-aged patrons sipping at coffee, their eyes narrowed in animosity from the obscene words and overly offensive phrases coming from unfiltered Australian kids.

The older boy began to wonder where his favourite barista had disappeared to while he carried himself over by his regular stool, where one of the three aforementioned deadbeats positioned himself.

Just when he felt incredibly unsure of himself and whether he should ask the kid to move, he saw Joji, sitting alone in his booth, a much more unhappy look displayed on the exposed area of his face.

Ian, however, felt a flood of comfort wash over him as he slipped into the opposing side of the wooden table.

The other jumped and snapped his eyes up at the prompt presence, then his expression contorted, more relaxed and well-kept.

"Welcome back, dude. Sorry you had to see whatever mess this is."

"Whatever mess this is?" Ian swiftly scanned the perimeter with a turn of his head, then leaned in closer.

" _Does this happen often?_ "

"Nope," Joji answered, frown returning, "in all my days here, I've never seen it this... chaotic."

The American mirrored the upset gaze, then allowed his eyes to examine the array of males, before stopping at the sight of a figure he'd grown used to.

Only it was different.  _He_ was different.

Max, still dressed in his green apron akin to earlier, was miserable looking.

His usually turbulent eyes were void of anything other than fatigue, his features greatly the same, and he'd lost the thick-rimmed hipster glasses that were almost invariably worn by the teen. 

The Aussie boy exhibited clear signs of complete exhaustion that were stupidly unordinary of him, as he contributed only one-liners of dialogue, occasional chuckles and lazy smiles at the trio of what appeared quite clearly to be his friends crosswise of the counter from him.

"What happened to him?" Ian murmured as nonchalantly as he could, but the concern didn't go amiss.

Joji's eyes lingered on Ian for a second longer than necessary before he set his coffee down on the table, using a waved hand to characterize the tone he used to answer.

"He's been this way for about half an hour now."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. I haven't seen Max so placid, it's almost scary."

The American briefly pondered the foreign idea of such a change of behavior in the barista, then continued.

"What was he like before they arrived and white-trashed the place up?"

The teen across from him chortled at the comment,

"Full of life like he always is."

That worried the older.

From what he'd seen of Max, the boy was a constant stream of wit and energy, always being the life of the party. However, the character he saw, slaving away at machines while unenthusiastically chiming in words to the conversation from time to time, didn't fit that description; wasn't that same fire-eyed vessel.

Then, Ian noticed that none of them had front-forward paid even a cent for the drinks they received, and received them without speaking so much as a thank you, only leading on with their explicit language while they ranted away endlessly, and unreasonably loudly.

"They didn't pay for their drinks," Ian noted aloud, simultaneously turning back in time with the Japanese male.

"They haven't been paying for them since they got here, man. Max has been taking this out of his first paycheck."

The American fell silent; not because he had nothing to say, but because he wasn't sure which outraged cry fit the situation best.

"Chad has been checking on him and the total amounts they've sucked up every ten minutes," Joji proceeded, "so far it isn't looking good."

"Is he at least getting drinks for himself?"

At closer inspection, the overworked barista  _did_  look dehydrated.

"Nope."

Entirely infuriated and agitated, Ian rose from the booth and fished hastily for his leather wallet, taking confident strides over beside the obnoxious kid on the farthest right.

He whipped out two, two-dollar gold coins; each smaller than a dollar coin, then smacked them down on the counter.

Such a loud disruption caused the clan of boys to elude their judgemental gazes over at Ian, who felt the confident attitude he previously expressed falter a bit from him as he became visibly more sheepish. Still, he kept about appearing rugged and meaning business.

The moment the deflated barista laid eyes on the familiar customer, his green orbs flourished with a stiff amount of liveliness and he stood upright, a weak smile stretching across his face.

"Hey, cunt," Max chirped, throwing his brash smile Ian's way, "the usual?"

The smile was contagious and quickly went to work to make its way across the American's mouth as he flicked the gold coins closer, stopping Max's tired autopiloted movements to begin work on an espresso.

"Actually, I was hoping for a mocha," Ian informed, grin audible in only his words. He'd almost forgotten that he was being deconstructed by malicious stares, but the uncareful whispers between the boys brought it back to light.

Max, so enlightened by the older's general presence, didn't seem to take note of his friend's behaviors, dismissing them as a whole while he tossed a cloth over a stain on the woodwork.

"So, you finally agree with me that mocha is the master race, ay?"

Ian snorted in ridicule, rolling his eyes.

"Don't get too cocky, champ. This one's for you."

He shuffled his hand away from the money on the oak surface, making his way back towards the booth, but not before witnessing the gorgeous, lively eyes go a shade of wondrous and moved by the kind act.

The noise of rambunctious kids resounded once he had retired to the green leather seat, covering over any possible silences as Ian sat back down across from the teen donning sunglasses.

The American was about to speak again, but his voice was overthrown by the particularly careless teenagers.

From what he gathered, they'd been murmuring about him since he bought Max a mocha, obviously just saying bullshit insults for the sake of getting laughs from one another.

" _He looks like an Alien,"_ was one of the overheard slanders used against him, the one who said it gaining loud guffaws from the other two.

Ian peered over at them from behind his glasses, now disgraced and somewhat self-conscious by what he'd heard, only to catch a glimpse of Max's scornful glare.

"Can you all shut the fuck up? No, seriously, fuck up. He's better than you pricks on a good day," the crude barista spat, though his tone was flat and only carried a quarter of his customary added flare.

The young adult was humbly flattered, and sure enough, his friends were quiet for a short period of time, not nearly as obnoxious as they were before. 

That was, of course, until they started telling jokes.

Ones that were immature and blatantly unfunny to anyone with the sense of humor above the age of twelve, but these kids thought they were the peak of hilarity, uproaring with laughter that was scalding to the ears after just minutes of hearing it.

Even their working friend who was evidently about their age in maturity didn't find most of the half-assed attempts at gags laughable.

Ian wasn't certain on why they thought they had to be so loud to make a joke funny, either, and though he was trying to converse as casually as he could with Joji about their interests, he couldn't help but give in to his witty nature and pipe in.

"Hey, Max," he cooed, swinging one arm over to rest on the table while eyeing up over at the barista, who's concentration instantaneously trained to him, brows raised as a sign to go on, "I've got a more personal joke for you."

This got a patient and hopeful stare from the tired teen, along with the unfocused and disrupted stares from his friends.

"I used to think your coffee was alright, but now I think it's  _hack._ "

There was a second of utter silence until Max realized that Ian was referencing his little spit facade, cheeks flushed a crimson colour and he threw a hand over his mouth, a loud chuckle muffled by said hand.

His buddies looked lost, their eyes turning between both their friend and the stranger who he'd defended earlier without a trace of clue in them.

"Fuck up," Max laughed bashfully, shaking his head and trying to wipe the burning from his face.

For a moment, Ian's chest burst with pride and warmness which he welcomed, adoring the normality returning to the barista boy as his chuckles were replaced with a genuine smirk, brown locks falling over his face gently.

Another time that came to an end, this time by a poorly perceived joke as the oblivious teens tossed their empty cups at Ian, causing quite a scene to behold.

" _ **Our mate made that 'hack' you drink, cunt!** ", " **don't you dare say that shit around here** ", " **fuck you!** " _and so forth were hauled in time with the plastic beverage containers.

Ian yelped out and told them to 'fuck off' in between swats of his hand, but the overpowering voice above every other was an Australian male, and boy, was he pissed.

"Stop it!" the demand came out as a scream and was followed by the sound of cutlery assaulting the floorboards.

Everything abruptly fell to a halt; not a single movement was made, other than the turning of heads to an infuriated, heavy-breathing Max, who had the most blazing of hatred scathing in his eyes.

By then, everybody in the facility was just ogling Max.

"It was an inside joke," the barista hissed emphatically through gritted teeth, "one that I was not offended by whatsoever. So neither should you dumb cunts be."

A couple of blinks and shared eyeballing at one another was the first move of the boys, and they appeared knowing that they were in the wrong.

However, instead of admitting it, too caught up in their pride, the three teenagers simply slipped off of their stools and mimicked glares back at Max, their feet carrying them in a pack towards the exit.

Max's glare didn't leave them, his green eyes alight as they thoroughly watched the other boys make their way out.

As the last one got out of the door, he stood still, then called back ' _you can be such a fag at times_ ', slamming the glass door shut so fast and hard Ian was puzzled on how it didn't break.

Joji and Ian stood to tend to Max in time, but were instead greeted with a firm and direct hand movement that said 'stay'.

The American watched as the barista rubbed at his red face and then murmured something to himself, his heart tearing all the while. It felt awful to watch the other he'd come to admire fall apart and get detrimentally angry at what was assumedly his closest friends, and even if they weren't that great of friends, Ian still felt as though it was his fault.

Sucking in a deep breath, the Aussie turned to his two regular customers--probably his only friends he had left--and forged a smile, emotive eyes fixated mainly at the American, who carried the metaphorical torch of shame.

"Are you okay?" Max soothed, his rough voice much sweeter, as though if it were normal, the young adult would shatter in front of him.

Ian was shocked to even hear the boy ask such a question and in such a tone after going through such a fit, but complied to answer curtly, nodding.

"Good," the barista breathed, before resting his face into his palms, leaning over the counter a bit while his eyes fluttered shut, "that was so fucked."

"You don't say," the quiet Jap agreed, eyeing Max's limp form.

"Why were they here, Max? Did you invite them?" Ian inquired, though he felt put off by the weakened sigh of frustration that followed.

"I told 'em I'd catch up sometime in the second week of our holidays, but that was before I got this job. Fat cunt has made me work every day of the week this past week, and my retarded friends told me they had to hang out with me or some shit, so I just said come around here while I'm working.

"They didn't want to, told me they had no money, and they were calling me names and I just thought, fuck it, I'll pay for you all to come here and hang out then. You saw the rest," Max finished with a yawn. 

His accented voice was more slurred than ever as he presumedly began to drift off laying against the countertop, and the oldest of them, despite being ticked off at the story, let it rest so that Max could be at peace for just a rare second.

A comfortable silence was shared among all three while the remaining customers of the store enjoyed the quiet, some typing away on laptops, others watching out of windows at passing birds, cars and whatever else piqued their interests.

The one to interrupt the stillness was none other than Chad, and as the group of boys diverted their gazes up at the bigger man, they synchronously noticed that he was as fatigued as his barista, who's greens had sparkled with hope.

"Yeah, you can go home now, don't look at me like that," the man in his twenties exhaled, shaking his head, "and I finished up with my calls. The new shipments should arrive in a week or so."

It was evident Max was barely paying any mind to the words, desperate to tear off his green apron while Joji prodded on about the bulk-bought shipments that were important to the stock of the small business.

Ian found their words much less entertaining than watching Max tussle his hair and rub at his eyes, itching to leave behind a zombie-like stare.

Just to be a dick--and maybe because he wanted to see the look on the teenager's face--the American took a last minute order.

"Hey Maxyboy, another mocha please?"

He was greatly entertained to watch the other stiffen at the nickname and request, then turn with burnt-out dismay, before groaning as loudly as he could and fulfilling the order placed.

Ian cackled to himself as he excused himself from the booth, placing the money for it on the surface Max had previously laid his head on, then made his way to the door of the establishment, cutting off the Australian's call for him to come back and instead answering it with a friendly,

" _Enjoy your mocha, barista boy!_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this one was a little off, feel free to correct me at any points! There's been a lot going on which is making it hard to find the time to sit and focus. Please leave comments, I'm greatly inspired by them!  
> *The chapter summary is a nod to Max's home life, too.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max finds work to be an ideal place for his happiness, and how his feelings towards Ian are more positive than negative.

After a week of being back at the dreaded place known as school, to say that Max was already emotionally and physically drained would be the understatement of the century.

Things at home for the young Aussie had only gotten worse, too, and he was on the threshold of just packing up his various possessions (most of which being Pokemon related items) and heading for the streets.

As Max washed his long, shaggy, high-maintenance hair, he imagined just what it would be like to take to his feet and flee from everything he knew and held dear. The more he thought over it, the less plausible it seemed, but it sure was a pleasant dream over the darkened reality that very recently haunted him.

After stepping out of the shower and drying himself off, Max threw on a dark blue t-shirt and a pair of black jeans, collecting up his belongings and yawning widely, the morning sun shining through the gaps of his beige curtains, in onto the smooth skin on his face. He sighed in contentment from the warmness of its rays, caressing his face just gentle enough to be enjoyable.

He couldn't spend too long reveling in the feeling of the sun, however, because it was around seven in the morning and he had a job to tend to.

Max thrust his old duffel bag onto his shoulder, then headed for the door, not before spotting a fist-shaped hole in the white drywall of his lounge room. His green eyes glossed over with a stern, fearful expression he was becoming all too familiar with, and he slammed the front door to his house shut with him on the outside, starting the stride to his place of work.

Though it was not on the top of things he wanted to be thinking about, Max was upset over the hole namely because he had heard it happen the night before, between shouted words of malice between both his father and his mother that seemed to fill the what could be silence for hours.

He also had to wonder if his younger sister, Amber, had heard the whole thing too, and cried herself to sleep as he did, wondering  _why_  these things happened, and why they couldn't stop it from going on.

The Aussie couldn't dwell on the disturbing thought though, running rough fingers through his dampened brunette locks, trying to focus on anything but memories that taunted him relentlessly.

He tried to think about work, about how well-acquainted he'd become with the copious machines and techniques, but one thought lead to another and soon he was smiling to himself over the recollections based upon the two male customers he'd become considerably close to.

Ian and Joji.

The warmth returned to his chest as Max relived the few moments they'd shared in his head, occasionally chuckling as he picked up his pace, barely focusing on the grassy suburban neighborhoods that slowly transitioned into concrete paths, and before long, he had reached his destination.

Much to his delight, with one hand held to the handle on the glass door, he spotted a familiar figure strutting his way, a shit-eating grin sewn to his cheeks.

"Good morning, Max," Joji chimed, taking Max's shove of the door and stand back motion as a cue to enter the shop. Max followed in-toe.

"Mornin' George. Nice to see you actually have legs!"

The Japanese man laughed quietly and gave the other teen's shoulder a firm nudge,

"you'd probably be surprised to hear, but I have a dick, too."

This time, Max cackled, shaking his head delicately enough that his hair bounced along too. He continued to follow his routine; slip behind the counter and start working on Joji's regular order.

Though his expressive eyes sought his movements precisely, they would dart over to the other boy from time to time, listening to what he was rambling on about. From what Max gathered, it was something about school and the massive workload that had been piled on him.

It became crystal clear to him that Joji may have been one of his only friends now, as he'd just done a week of school without the clan of obnoxious dickheads he once called best mates.

When the Aussie's voice hadn't been heard in long enough, Joji stared Max down until they locked eyes, drumming coffee-less fingers on the table.

"How has your week at school been, boss?"

The question caught him off guard, and Max almost dropped the hot beverage he had just finished all over the wooden tiled floor, his long eyelashes fluttering a couple of times like a deer in headlights.

"Uhh," Max sort-of began, returning to his movements of delivering the coffee to the booth, "it was good. Lot of pricks, but y'know, that's just Aussie rules at this point."

Joji hummed in agreement, clutching the coffee from the barista's grasp and taking a brave sip, barely minding the hotness of the liquid as he gulped it down.

Max took a second to admire his skill, then sauntered back into the employee's quarters, sighing gingerly as he took to pulling out his phone and scrolling through various social medias, his free hand doing laps through his somewhat damp locks.

Soon, Chad broke the boring void of much of anything by entering the main area through the little staff room. Darker shades of green met lighter, more energetic ones, and the older man smiled.

"G'mornin', Max, nice to see you didn't kill yourself because of school."

Both of the employees whipped their heads around to where the sound of a snort and a line akin to 'I almost did' came from, the sight of the college-aged teenager folding his arms there to greet them when they did.

"Yeah. It's been hard and I'm already ready to give up school and work full time here with you, big dog," the young Australian joked, glancing back up at his boss.

The bigger of both had to laugh, slapping Max's arm with a hefty swat.

"Can't be that bad, ay? Wasn't long ago that I was in your position and I hated it, but I didn't even want to work!"

The younger barista reddened softly, eyes lurking at the ground, a bit shameful and disconcerted at the idea that he may have been overreacting.

To his shock, Chad softened visibly, shuffling past him and throwing a dish towel over his shoulder.

"Don't worry too much, Max. If it makes ya feel any better, I pulled some strings with your school. Told 'em you were a working man now and that you needed more hours."

Max perked up, big, light eyes orbs laced with interest. His fingers tugged tentatively at the hem of his shirt, and his head tilted ever-so-slightly.

Chad pivoted around to witness the adoring sight, a teasing grin hinting at his lips. If he were a completely heartless person, he'd ask Max why he resembled a puppy, but instead, he continued on with his story.

"You no longer have to attend school for six or seven hours, you get your first two or so periods off to work here. Some afternoons off, too."

The young barista almost exploded with joy. He bellowed in laughter and fist-pumped the air, turning his head excitedly over to Joji, who was smiling equally as joyfully back at him.

"Chad, if you weren't such a fat cunt, I'd hug you," Max announced, playfully placing a hit on the older's lower arm.

"Jee, thanks," he spat in return, though there was no genuine anger in the statement. Just lighthearted banter.

  
The rest of the morning carried out as per usual, with only one or two additional clients to interrupt the flow of conversation between all three men. Max served one and Chad, the other, and aside from that, it was quiet business as usual.

At the present, Chad was ranting away about some customer who ordered an iced tea--pretty stupid, in all of their opinions--and the Japanese patron was heavily in unison, adding in his own bits of ridicule to the tale.

Max was barely listening, if he were being honest, thinking about how he'd be working morning shifts more often and how it didn't really bother him as much as it should have that he would be missing more school. If the past week showed him anything, it was that school means little to nothing when you have no one to share the experience with.

While lost in the memory, it appeared he wasn't lost enough, because when the chime of a bell entered his ears, the Aussie perked up and rotated his sights immediately.

He was greeted with the sight he was becoming much too accustomed to, and his chest bubbled with furor, relief washing over him-- _wait, relief?_

Max ignored the overpowering thoughts in his head, striding over to the front counter, though the emotive, friendly smile spoke worlds about his true inner turmoil.

"If it isn't my favourite barista boy!" The outlandish American accent called, and Max was conflicted with the odd amount of emotions that he was caught up in.

"Morning, cunt," Max welcomed, unknown as to why but aware of the fact that his chest felt hollow from Ian's words.

He was so trained to the older boy that he'd not paid attention to the silence that trailed in behind him, oblivious to the double pairs of eyes that laid rest on him.

"Regular, or should I actually try to convert you to the superior coffee?" Max had asked, green eyes watchful over Ian's face, noting the way that his brows raised in question and his smirk only grew at the comment, those deep browns swirling with amusement.

"Regular, but thanks for reminding me why I'm broke," Ian teased, fiddling with his wallet before pulling out a purple five dollar note, offering it to Max, who donned a look of notable guilt.

 After a second, he reached a hand out to take it, snatching it with as much haste as he had done the first time they'd met. This time, he was careful not to brush their fingers together, slipping the note into the register.

Max peered back up at the American, grinning and turning to get to the order. 

Ian smiled warmly at this, making his way over to the stool he habitually sat at and slipped up onto it.

Joji and Chad each coughed knowingly and went about their business, and Ian glanced at both with confusion, Max assumedly blind to any unusual behavior going on behind him. Joji gave a quick nod of acknowledgment to Ian, and Ian returned it curtly.

The young barista's hum of the theme to the Pokemon TV show captured their attention, his fingers tapping along on the bench as he waited for the machine to stop filling the cup. 

He finished it off with a cute leaf design; something Chad had taught him how to do to impress certain critiques and above average attendees. 

It was an obscure thought to Max that he would ever respect Ian, and he didn't want to admit it; but the foreigner had been insanely generous and caring for no particular reason, and as much as he wanted to be ignorant, Max had to admire the young adult in his ways.

So, carrying the artistic coffee with the precision of a surgeon, Max transported the coffee from the workbench to the counter, then placed it down in front of Ian, whose chocolate eyes gazed pleasantly over the foam of his beverage.

"Hey, that's pretty good," he commented, adjusting his frames so he could glance back up at Max, smiling with a glint of amusement evident in his eye.

Max wasn't entirely sure how to respond, or why the comment made him chuckle as much as it did, so he merely shrugged his shoulders and played with his apron's string, biting on his thick lower lip and eyeing the floor almost bashfully.

It was alarming in the least, how much that stupid little remark made him feel. He felt good, praised,  _appreciated._ Maybe he just wasn't used to it, but the sensation didn't go unnoticed by him.

Either way, he relished the giddiness inside dearly, even if he showed it by continuing to be a snarky asshole to the other. 

The rest of his shift was spent joking around and laughing with all three other boys, and Max felt whole for the first time that week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this chapter is a little rushed/boring/unusual! I really just wanted to pump this one out because it's more of a filler chapter than anything else, the next will contain a new character who might be somewhat of an important addition? I'm not really sure yet. Hope you're all enjoying, leave a comment and let me know what you think!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian enjoys the coffee shop a whole lot, even when things don't quite stay the same. Perhaps, it wasn't even the coffee shop he liked. Maybe it was just a person who worked there...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to dedicate this chapter to someone who means the absolute world to me and I feel I'm the absolute luckiest to have even met. You've graced me more than you shall ever know just with your presence, and I love you Cuck.

Ian had to wonder if his lectures were really worth it.

While they were giving him his much-needed education and access to a variously brighter future, the number of hours he sat through, dreaming that he was somewhere else while he scribbled down notes had him bored half to death and reconsidering the option of dropping out.

As the American walked down the street which was ultimately becoming a piece to his routine walk, his mind roamed the possibilities of other things he could be filling his time up with. He didn't exactly welcome the fact that the first thing to pop up and take him by surprise was that Chad's coffee shop--his very destination, at present--in which he could be there, taking down notes.

That lead to another thought; the one of how unobservant those who worked at the bistro were.

For days, now, he had been taking a little notepad and pen which would normally be clipped to his sweater or t-shirt and documenting or taking notes at random intervals.

The baristas hadn't even given it a thought, or if they had, it wasn't audibly. That would be quite unusual considering both of the employees were without a filter most of the time, so it was decided that they had been none the wiser to his little journaling process.

Upon the swinging open of a perfectly clean, mostly transparent door, a noise which was as welcoming as his mother's voice greeted Ian into his favorite space to vacate; and along with it, came the deafening sound of a yell and scream. Music to his ears, by this time.

One of the outbursts was overfamiliar and brought a grin to Ian's lips, though the other cry made his dark eyes dart up wearily, the glass frame behind him drawing closed with a soft click. 

The first set of eyes to peer up and meet his own were familiar and bright shades of nature, painting a large smile over Ian's entire face as he lost his train of thought to the capturing contact they shared.

Maybe it was the American's wild imagination playing games with his tortured soul, but he swore that he saw a beaming light twinkle in greens that remained locked to his own hazel eyes.

To break whatever train of thought prompted such an idea was a much less comforting shout.

Uncomforting, because it was completely new to Ian.

Before he could inspect for the source, Ian watched the light and airy smile fade from the Australian teenager's face, soon replaced with a sour glare as he turned his head away from the American to scream some more at what was presumably a new recruit placed behind the counter

Ian stood at the front counter for no longer than a second, jamming down a five dollar note as he routinely did, then slipped on over to his usual stool where he noticed the odd absence of one ever-present customer. 

He waited until Max had stopped calling the new worker names and whacking him with a dirty dishcloth before speaking up.

"Where's Jap-boy?"

Max snorted obnoxiously, wordlessly prepping Ian's coffee like second nature, working at a professional rate.

"Think he's got an exam or some dumb shit like that. Shocking right?" Max allowed his eyes to wander up to Ian's hastily before they darted back down to the almost finished beverage. "I was beginning to think he didn't even actually go to college."

Ian found the minimal eye contact from what were customarily Max's most expressive features strange, especially from the rambunctious nature of the Australian boy, but he shrugged it off.

"What? Did you think he was homeless?"

"A bit, yeah," Max replied almost sheepishly, though a cheeky grin stained his lips like grass on white clothing.

Ian had to chuckle at such a bizarre implication of their friend, but was curtly cut off by yet another scream, drawing his attention back to a character he wasn't so sure of.

The barista he'd been speaking to whipped around like lightning and began to scold and instruct the outlandish man who Ian was certain he had never seen before.

From his appearance, he looked to be around high school age like Max, though there was nothing really outstanding or noteworthy about his looks. He just looked like your extraordinarily average, run-of-the-mill, boring teenager you'd see working at a low-income establishment, though it was questionable to the observer why the new barista had insisted on wearing such a lengthless pair of shorts that left little to none to the imagination.

 _'He could have at least shaved if he was gonna wear those,'_ was an intrusive thought that came as fleetingly as it went passed on through Ian's mind, and he tore his eyes away, maybe out of politeness or maybe out of the fact that anymore gawking would probably make him heave. 

God forbid he  _threw up_  in the coffee Max served him, spit from the Aussie was bad enough.

Speaking of coffee, a freshly brewed cup with steam wafting from the plastic lid was placed with utmost gentleness before Ian, and served with it was a supple smile from a teenager he'd grown to adore. 

That sounded weirder than it was to the American, but he decided not to think about it as he took a reckless sip, resulting in a scalding sensation breaking out over his tongue.

In urgency, he pried the cup of coffee away from his lips as fast as humanly possible, loud bellows of laughter taking place before he could even scratch out a 'fuck!' or anything along the lines of it, which he did under the unexpected disguise of Max's entertained howling.

Once Ian had pushed the cup away from himself like it was the devil itself and rediscovered his surroundings, he felt his structured face go as hot-- _maybe hotter_ \-- than the beverage he'd burnt his tongue on, immediately cocking his head to the side in a fluster, murmuring foul obscenities about the Australian in between telling him to shut his mouth.

Max had to cover his mouth to stifle the chuckles that were slowly dying down, his cheeks still raised in joy, and Ian watched him from the corner of his eyes, feeling far too embarrassed to speak.

"You've got a thing for burning coffee, ay?" The noisy barista prompted, prodding his customer's shoulder with a teasing nature.

Ian didn't utter a sound, only turning his head to glare at Max, before calling him a cunt and taking a much more calculated sip of the brew in front of him.

Though it was evident Max would have loved to watch the older boy suffer from his own actions a bit longer, the sound of porcelain being shattered like a thin window with a rock thrown smack-bam through the middle of it interrupted any further viewing.

The long-haired barista spun around like lightning, hair falling over his green eyes as he attempted to discipline the rookie worker, though he was visibly getting worked up by his own brown locks falling over his line of sight and disrupting him from being able to see the source of his problems.

"Get a haircut," Ian scoffed after watching the Aussie boy struggle and swipe at his messy hair, taking yet another sip of coffee.

Max let out a gust of air as he whipped his head around to glare at Ian, then self consciously, he prodded at his hair a bit, as if checking that there was anything wrong with it to prompt such a comment. When he was finished and clearly decided Ian was just having a goof, he continued to have a go at the newbie.

It was quite some time before they got into a comfortable silence with one another once again--or really, before that hooligan who'd joined the barista team finally settled down and focused on cleaning dishes  _without_  shattering them into dangerous shards that Max continuously almost stepped on.

Ian watched as Max zoned out, scrubbing away at the bench with a bored gaze, almost looking sad as he bored off into the specs of stains that he couldn't seem to erase.

"Hey, I don't mean to be 'that guy'," Ian spoke, trying not to be swindled by the fact that another uninvited set of ears had evidently set their course for his words, "but are you okay? You look like you're gonna blow a fuse if you keep wiping that spot."

Max's beautiful greens shuttered open with a couple of blinks and he gazed up at the American boy sitting across from him. It was almost painfully obvious the smile he threw on was false or off, before he glanced down to the ground, placing both hands on the counter and gnawing at his lower lip as he thought of a reply.

Ian was torn between worry and thinking it was a cute sight, seeing Max almost become bashful with thought.

"Guess this fucker just stressed me out," the barista offered with another smile, one that whispered more sincerity to the older boy's eyes than the previous, more preserved one.

Still, Ian knew there was something else up. He wasn't sure if it was his place to pry, especially considering there was a new being in that cafe that neither were all too familiar with.

Before he could contemplate a correct display of words, there was yet another crashing noise, following this time by a gurgle.

The short-tempered teenager spun around to him, gritting his teeth tightly, even grinding them to a degree.

"Do you ever shut up, fuckass?" He growled out, though it was through closed teeth entirely.

The other male's face softened a little, but he made a bull-like huffing noise, before turning his back to the both of them and finishing off the dishes, then disappeared into the staff room like clockwork. 

"He seems nice," Ian commented sarcastically, a large, uncomfortable smile spreading across his face. One that made Max laugh once he turned back to Ian and witnessed it, the intenseness overriding any regular emotion in the American's features. 

The more Max looked, the more his laughter built up, turning from small little chuckles into proper laughter, his hand reaching out and smacking at the other's cheek; only lightly, of course, but it made the older start to let out a rather dorky laugh while still holding that expression.

"You're a bit fucked in the head," the barista boy cooed, though his eyes were much lighter and full of some sort of softness Ian could swear he hadn't properly seen in this lighting before. 

Max's smile was suddenly the only thing he was paying attention to. He decided he liked Max's big, geeky smile. Almost as much as he liked his laugh.

Ian couldn't help but mimic the look of untainted happiness as he watched the other's foresty eyes roam around the shop while he held his expression of borderline laughter, presumably tracking down any other mess he could clean up, or maybe just distract him from having to look more at one of those faces Ian had been a proclaimed professional at making.

The American found himself pondering what really did go on in the younger boy's mind, and then, of course, wondering why he was so invested in such a stupid little thing. Maybe it was just the fact that Max had been such an unpredictable person over the course of time that he'd known him, long, shaggy, brown hair always overclouding his emotions, but his shocking greens always holding a different side to the story. 

He couldn't work out why, but it was just... _Max._  That stupid, goofy, nerdy barista boy that had changed his general outlook on most things in his life in Australia, all for the better. 

Perhaps he should have hated the other, even, or vice versa, but it was hard to think like that anymore, because as much as he wouldn't admit it aloud, Ian had bonded quite ferociously with the other, even coming to care for him and worry about him, more-so than usual recently with the odd tiredness or strange looks the teen would give off.

The sound of a door swinging open and someone storming out with their thongs slapping against the ground obnoxiously interrupted any more of those intimate thoughts, breaking both of the attention to whatever either Ian or Max was focusing on.

Not to their surprise, it was the other Aussie teenager, exiting the inner counter and stopping at the door to the establishment, one hand placed on it while he glanced back at the two males staring at him.

"Hey, if ya come work for us again, can you please wear some longer, baggier shorts?" Max teased, making Ian snort on the coffee he'd subconsciously taken a sip from.

The barista at the door frowned, then made a grunt, giving them both the finger and flopping his way out of there.

Ian waited for Max to share eye contact with him again, before smirking softly, which was quickly mirrored. 

"You spoke my mind, Maxy-boy," he purred, taking another gentle gulp of his espresso with a calming smile.

What Ian  _wasn't_ expecting, was the shy gaze, gentle coloring on the other's cheeks and the widening of Max's pupils the moment he heard that nickname fly from the older's mouth.

He couldn't help but note that the use of that name made the normally loud, angry barista boy become a little quiet and to himself, and had done both times he used it.  _He would consider that useful information..._


End file.
